My Funny Valentine
by PeaceLoveBeatles18
Summary: Paul looks back on the first Valentine's Day he spent with John after they were married. Set in my Life Is What Happens 'Verse, second of my McLennon holiday one-shots.


**A/N: I know this is SUPER late, but my internet connection has been a little weird for the past few days. And, I'm gonna be honest, I HATE Valentine's Day. But I made an exception with these two cuties. Enjoy!**

**Paul's POV (Valentine's Day, 1981)**

The house had gotten abruptly quiet this morning. I'd had a full breakfast with Linda and the kids. But now, the only sound I could hear was the sound of my own footsteps as I walked into the sitting room and sat down on the sofa. This was odd...

"Hello?" I called through the house. No answer.

A quick peek out the window revealed an impromptu romp in the snow had been decided upon without me. That was strange, I didn't remember them saying they were going out or seeing them getting ready to go out... Had I tuned out _that_ much? During and right after breakfast, I had been thinking a lot about... Oh.

Ever since the night in December, I tended to lapse into deep thought about John and some of the happier memories we'd made. Linda seemed to have instinctively caught onto the fact that I had a lot on my mind when I acquired a certain look in my eyes. I'm not sure she understood the full extent of why I appeared to be thousands of miles away, but it had been her idea to cleverly lead our children away and otherwise engage them until I came looking for them.

_Oh, Linda_, I thought, a faint smile on my lips at the sight of a snowman in progress. _Thank you._

Making my way into my small studio, I picked up my acoustic guitar and sat back in the most comfortable chair. A song made an appearance in my head, rolling through my mind on a continuous loop: _My Funny Valentine._ I laughed a little, picking out the chords that went with the song. Oh, the memories I had associating with that song...

**(Valentine's Day, 1965)**

"Paulie," a familiar voice sang through the hallways of the otherwise abandoned studio. I grinned, turning in the direction of the sound.

"Yeah, Johnny?" I laughed, opening my arms to receive my mischievously smirking husband of three months.

He gave me a quick kiss, holding me tight. "Good evening, sir," he purred in my ear, his hands trailing slowly lower.

"Well, this is a lovely surprise," I said, kissing slowly down his neck. "Almost makes coming into work at this hour worthwhile. Speaking of, where is everyone? We're usually the last ones here and it's strangely quiet."

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound, and pressed one of his legs against one of mine. "About that," he murmured in my ear. "The only ones who know about this studio day are you, me, and the recording equipment over there."

With a roll of my eyes in a manner that was only partially serious, I pushed him away from me to about arm's length. "And this would be because..." I trailed off.

I found myself backed against a wall faster than I could blink. John's body was flush against mine. If there was a way for us to be physically closer than we were at that moment, we had yet to discover it. "Well..." His voice was so low it was little more than a vibration low in his chest. My overactive imagination kicked into gear and about a hundred different scenarios made my throat go dry with desire. "I've been planning something."

"Have you now?" I growled, reaching out with the intent to snog the guitarist before me until we both s saw stars. No such luck, however. He danced away, just out of my grasp.

"That's not part of my plan... not yet, anyway," he tsked at me playfully, enjoying the sight of my frustrated expression. "There's something for you in one of the recording booths. I've got some... stuff to do. Have fun!"

"Wait—" I called, receiving only the sound of the door shutting in response. A groan of annoyance passed my lips and I sagged against the wall. John knew exactly how to make me crazy; he had turned teasing into an art form, and he was a master artist.

So, there was something in a recording booth for me? I would look for it, and then... I glanced down and sighed, dragging both hands through my hair. A cold shower was definitely in order, then.

It took looking through three different booths before I found a note written in John's messy scrawl. It sat on the chair I usually occupied. It was written in red pen. I opened it, reading the words and occasionally frowning at the atrocious handwriting of the man I loved.

_Paul,_

_If I know you (and I'd like to think I do) you're probably irritated with me right now. You hate secrets and surprises. I think you might like this one, thought._

_You've found the note, so that's one part done. One step closer, yeah? For the next part, you'll need to go to our favorite restaurant and say you're picking up a takeaway under the name of Mr. Jones. And of course I'm not telling you why. It's a surprise, remember?_

_I love you,_

_John_

I smiled, shaking my head and tucking the note into my jacket. The crazy sod. This was why I loved him. Well, one of the many reasons.

The drive to the restaurant—one that served Italian food, it was where we ordered from all the time when we were at John's place—was agonizing. It felt like I was moving about three centimeters per minute. My car was boxed in on all sides by heavy traffic. Horns and clattering motors sounded all around me, creating a cacophonous noise. _This surprise _really _had better be worth it, Johnny boy_, I thought.

Finally arriving, I pulled a cabbie hat over my eyes and walked in, hands jammed in my pockets as protection against the residual chill of winter. It was mostly empty, but I knew the homey little restaurant would be packed to bursting later. The place was quite a romantic one and I had lamented over our inability to get an inconspicuous table for two there many times.

"Can I help you, sir?" an older, slightly pot-bellied gentleman came around the corner from the kitchen. A genuine smile creased his face, highlighting the crows' feet around his twinkling eyes.

"Hello, yes," I said, adopting a light (probably terrible) Welsh accent. My last name was supposed to be Jones, I might as well conform to the stereotype. "I'm picking up an order under the last name Jones."

He nodded in recognition. "Oh yes, of course. I'll be right back with it."

When he came back, I pulled out my wallet. "How much?" I asked.

He shook his head as he approached me with the food. "Already been paid for. It's funny, a man in a tattered overcoat came in unexpectedly and said he owed you a favor, so he paid for it. You know who it was?"

I narrowly stopped myself from grinning. I loved John. "Oh, that was nice of him. I wish I did know, I'd like to thank him." I collected the order from him and was about to turn away when his hand touched my elbow to get my attention.

"I almost forgot; there's a note in one of the boxes," he said. "The man gave it to me. He said not to read it, so I didn't. Who knows? It might tell you who he is."

"It might, yeah," I said, raising a hand in farewell and heading out to my car. As soon as I was out of his line of vision, I felt a smile spread across my face. I was going to have to tell John he was an utter idiot, but I loved him for it. A scavenger hunt?

I set the takeaway bag next to me on the passenger side of the car and peeked in a couple of the boxes, looking for the note. I found it sitting on a serving of fettuccine alfredo, my favorite Italian dish. It was sitting between the noodles and the wall of the container and hadn't gotten much sauce on it, but I was careful when I lifted it out of the box and opened it to read.

_Paul,_

_Second note, one more to go! Aren't you happy? Probably not yet. I promise, all will be revealed... eventually._

_For this last one, go to the flower shop on the corner of Greenwich street. The one where we bought a bunch of seed packets for your garden last year. Give them the same name you gave the restaurant. Then you can head home (my flat)._

_I still love you, even if you're cross with me right now!_

_John xx_

It was signed with two kisses. He must have thought I was properly cross with him. Let it be known, I was not thrilled that he had picked that particular flower shop. It was a good twenty minutes from where I was at that moment, and getting to John's would take another fifteen minutes from there. However, we did have memories associated with that place—mostly both of us ending up with dirt smeared all over our faces while trying to plant said seeds—and I was interested to see what would be waiting for me there.

This drive was mercifully shorter than the first and, aided by some good old fashioned rock 'n' roll on the radio, I found myself getting out of the car at the flower shop and feeling like I hadn't been driving for very long at all. The hat went back on my head and I opened the door to the shop. A small bell announced my presence.

"Hello?" I called into the seemingly empty shop. No one answered and I wandered over to the front counter, which was obscured by an enormous bouquet of red roses. There was a bell on the desk and I tapped it. It echoed throughout the place, but no one appeared. Odd...

It was then that I noticed the note sitting beside the bell. I picked it up; it was from the staff.

_We've popped out; sorry! If you're Mr. Jones, however, these flowers were paid for in your name. Have fun and good luck transporting them! Happy Valentine's Day! ~The Staff_

The massive bunch of roses was for me? John... I was going to have a word with him about these. It would be a herculean struggle in itself just to get the flowers out of the shop! They were lovely and I adored roses, especially red ones, but this had gone just a few steps overboard. There was no note from John this time, but I guess there didn't have to be. It was all said in the note on the counter.

As I staggered out of the shop, I got a lot of odd looks. People weren't recognizing me, which was a relief. However, they _were_ giving me the, _Mate, what did you bloody _do_?_ I turned a shade of red consistent with the flowers in my arms and managed to get the flowers in the car as quickly as possible.

Once I got to John's flat, I managed to hoist the bag of takeaway and the flowers into my arms and stagger my way up to the door, grumbling all the while. I couldn't use my hands to knock on the door, so I settled for kicking it a couple times with the toe of my shoe. Almost immediately, the door opened. John grinned at me, heedless of the face I was making at him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Paul," he said, taking the flowers from me. "Come in, you've only seen two-thirds of the surprise."

"What could you possibly have done _now_?" I asked warily, stepping inside. The lights were dimmed almost all the way; there were candles everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I mean borderline severe fire hazard. _My Funny Valentine_ by Frank Sinatra was playing in the background.

I set the takeaway on the table. As soon as I did that, I felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves gently around my waist. John rested his chin on my shoulder, enveloping me in his warmth. "Sorry about the wild goose chase I just sent you on, but I had to get the flat ready first."

"Don't apologize," I said, turning around to plant a kiss firmly on his lips. "This is the best Valentine's Day surprise I could ever imagine. Even if the flowers took that one step too far. Now, is this the rest of the surprise, or is there yet one more thing I should be aware of?"

He chuckled, capturing my lips in a hungry kiss. When stopping for air became necessary, he pulled away and set his deep brown eyes on me. "Funny you should mention... I think there's a candlelit hot bath waiting in the washroom if you'll follow me this way..."

He flew past me with a playful smack aimed at my arse. "Last one there has to do a strip tease!" he called with a laugh.

I followed behind at a leisurely pace. This could serve as an opportunity to get back at John for all his teasing; I wasn't a master of the art yet, but I was a quick study.

Happy Valentine's Day, indeed.

**A/N: Awww :) Review?**


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